Eline Vere (47 page)

‘Naughty man, keeping away from my party for so long! I hope you'll be punished for your sins, you horrid boy!'

He apologised with his laughing eyes and mocking mouth, sniffed her splendid white bouquet in its lace foil, tucked his opera hat under his arm and pulled at the fingers of his pearl-grey gloves. He thought she looked almost ethereal in the white froth of her tulle and orange blossom, with her pale, delicate features and the pouting lips of a spoilt child.

‘I hope every single girl is taken for the next dance, so that you'll be left all by yourself!' she said, rising to her feet.

‘Ah, what a severe bride you are! Will you wager with me that I shall not be left by myself, and that I shall be dancing all evening?' he murmured in her ear, imitating her high voice.

‘No, not a wager! I know you – getting up to mischief as usual! You'd better behave yourself this evening, I warn you!' she said, wagging her finger at him.

Just then Paul spotted Cateau van der Stoor standing with her back to some azaleas, in conversation with a tall, spindly young man whom he did not know. From across the room he gave her a cheery, indulgent nod, as if she were a small child, to which her only response was a stony look. The little minx! He resolved not to ask her to dance all evening; he might even ignore her entirely, just to teach her a lesson.

He was in the mood for larking about, and his eyes lit on Frédérique and Marie, both in pink tulle.

‘Well I never! A fine best man you make!' exclaimed Marie. ‘I'm surprised that you even dare to show your face at this late hour. Are you blushing?'

Ignoring Marie's reprimand, he turned to Freddie. She had promised him several dances, so he reminded her, and he was wondering about the next waltz.

‘Of course!' said Freddie. ‘I thought you'd forgotten all about me.'

From the conservatory came the opening strains of
Invitation à la valse
.

‘And we'll carry on with last night's philosophical discussion while we dance, shall we, Freddie?' he asked.

‘Oh no, no more philosophy please! I just want to dance and enjoy myself.'

She sounded happy, elated even, and smiled at him so winsomely that his heart began to beat apace. No cold shoulders now, thank goodness. How lovely she looked this evening, her face aglow with the rosy reflection of her pink toilette, her eyes sparkling with fun! Oh, she was prettier than all the others, to be sure, prettier even than the pale young bride across the room. He felt an urge to enfold her in his arms, but gazed into her eyes instead.

‘You've kept the polka before the intermission for me, haven't you? And the waltz after supper? And the cotillion, too, I hope?'

‘Yes, I've kept them all for you,' she replied, colouring. ‘Not that you deserve it by any means. But I always keep my word. As you can see, all my other dances are already taken.'

She showed him her dance-card. Grinning broadly, he scrawled a large capital P in each of the remaining blanks.

The waltz had already started, and just as he curved his arm around Frédérique's waist he caught sight of Cateau dancing with the spindly young man. He gave her another patronising nod, noting to his considerable satisfaction that her cheeks were on fire as she glared at him over her lanky cavalier's shoulder. After that he no longer thought of her, but only of Freddie.

He could not recall ever having enjoyed a waltz as much as now, with Freddie floating in his arms as they glided among the other
dancing couples. He could not resist drawing her close, pressing her lightly to his chest, and his laughing eyes slid down her throat to her lovely, firm shoulders. The whirling pink froth of her skirts made him feel quite giddy, and with his head almost leaning on her shoulder, he fastened his gaze on the silken tendrils of hair curled against the nape of her neck. Miss Know-it-all had vanished without trace, so had the little professor; it was only Freddie now, dancing like a dream.

This is the life, he thought to himself, a long, sweet waltz going round and round in a soft, mesmerizing rhythm, on and on, the pretty little head at his shoulder, the graceful creature in his arms, the pink whirlwind of rustling pleats like a flurry of rose petals, the silky tendrils of hair, the gentle curve of her lily-white shoulder, on and on . . .

‘Paul, you needn't hold me so tight, I am not about to run away, you know!' she whispered, smiling. He gazed into her shining eyes but did not relax his hold, and she resigned herself to his embrace with good grace. They fell silent.

When the music stopped he felt as if he were waking from a wonderful dream.

‘Oh, Freddie, can't we go on waltzing together for ever and ever, until our dying day?'

She smiled and murmured a reply, which he did not hear, for in his fancy they were off again, dancing the waltz.

. . .

For the lancers Paul was on the same side as the bride, Frédérique, Marie, Cateau, Georges, Etienne and young Jan, and each time his hand touched Cateau's he gave her fingers a little squeeze. He had been teasing her all evening with his mocking glances, and Cateau now looked daggers at him. He could not think why he was feeling so waggish this evening, but he simply could not resist pulling everyone's leg. He was now playing the dandy, surrounded by a bevy of girls, treating each of them in turn to an impertinent remark which only made them giggle. He pretended to ignore Françoise Oudendijk when she posed some comical questions,
then suddenly spun round to gaze into her eyes, his face a grimace of incredulity.

‘I say, Paul, how you've changed! You're so mad nowadays! What's come over you?' she said, reaching out to touch the gardenia in his buttonhole.

‘Can't you guess?' he retorted in an undertone, batting his eyelashes flirtatiously. ‘Can't you guess?'

‘Me? No, how could I?'

‘May I tell you the reason later? May I?' he begged.

‘Oh yes, please!'

‘Well then, join me for half a dance-conversation during the Scottish reel,' he said quickly.

‘What do you mean by half a dance-conversation?'

‘I hereby promote the first Scottish to a dance-conversation with two ladies, but I shan't be talking first with the one and then with the other, but with both at the same time. My first partner is Léonie Eekhof, so if you will be my second, I promise I'll tell you the reason for my madness. What do you say?'

She stared at him a moment, unsure whether she should take offence or not.

‘If that's all you have to offer, then no thank you!' she rejoined, affecting indignation.

‘As you wish!' he concluded, giving her such a mocking look that she turned her back on him.

The other girls were still chattering nineteen to the dozen.

‘My dear children, I fear you are making me quite deaf!' he said pompously, pushing them out of his way as he made for the drawing room. It was time for a lark with the mammas sitting in a row at the back admiring their daughters, but he was checked by Betsy, who was having a conversation with Emilie.

‘Hello, gadfly!' said Betsy, touching his sleeve. ‘Where are you gadding off to now?'

‘To the old wallflowers,' he whispered in reply. ‘And what about you – not dancing? This is not an invitation, mind; I am only showing an interest.'

She promptly took up the gauntlet, assailing him with reproach for his impertinence, whereupon they launched into a hilarious
exchange that brought tears of laughter to Emilie's eyes. Betsy beamed; she too was impressed by the startling transformation he had undergone: he had become so dashing, no wonder he was doted on by all the women! It had taken him rather a long time to shake off his old lethargy, and he had roused himself at an age when his peers were already settling down, but there was something about him, a touch of the Don Juan with his tawny hair and brazen grey-blue eyes, something that would play on the heartstrings of every girl. She watched as Paul made his way towards the matrons in the drawing room. He bowed to Madame Eekhof and Madame van der Stoor, seated side by side on the sofa.

After a brief exchange of civilities, Madame Eekhof enquired:

‘Aren't you dancing tonight, Van Raat? I can hear the music starting up again.'

Replying that he did not care for the mazurka, Paul requested the ladies to make room for him on the sofa, and he nestled himself between them with remarkably little ceremony. He listened with an air of rapt attention to their questions and responded willingly, toying with his opera hat all the while. No, he had abandoned painting entirely – the smell of oils was so disagreeable – and he had even banished his easel to the attic. He had given up music, too, since Eline Vere was no longer there to sing duets with. He smiled graciously, twisting the ends of his thick blond moustache when Madame Eekhof protested that it was a shame to let his talents go to waste, and did he not recall how Cateau used to fall into a swoon whenever she heard him sing?

‘Talking of Eline,' Madame van der Stoor interposed, ‘do you happen to know when she will return? Is she still travelling?'

‘You know she went to Spain with her uncle and aunt, don't you? She stayed with them for quite a while in Brussels after that, and then all three of them went to Nice. She also spent some time with relatives of her aunt's, in a chateau somewhere near Bordeaux, and goodness knows where else she has been.'

Paul was beginning to find the conversation tedious, for he was singularly uninterested in Eline at the moment. Having no wish to hear Madame Eekhof raking up the sorry affair, he rose abruptly and took his leave. He turned to the row of matrons, each of whom
he greeted with due charm and ceremony, taking great relish in their eagerness to speak to him. Ah, there was Madame Oudendijk, who seemed to think he was minded to propose to Françoise this very evening, for there was a touch of the mother-in-law in the way she rested her hand on his arm, to which he responded by showering her with refined little compliments about her daughter, and oh, how she lapped them up! He said Françoise had mentioned to him that she would love to ride; perhaps her mother could buy her a horse? What a pretty picture she would make riding side saddle! Waiting for her answer, he imagined he could read her thoughts: let him give Françoise a horse if that's what she wants, and himself into the bargain! But he had no intention of doing anything of the kind.

. . .

He moved away, and in passing overheard Uncle Verstraeten and Henk discussing the likelihood of Eline returning to The Hague in the summer. He recalled having heard something about Eline having plans to stay with his mother. Well, that would be very nice, having such a pretty girl in the house . . . How old was she now? Twenty-five, at a guess – young enough at any rate to be good company, and he resolved to see if he could make her fall in love with him, just for fun.

Returning to the salon, he found the bride and groom and their entourage besieged by the crowd. His appearance caused a stir, and when several girls ran towards him to berate him for shirking his duties as best man, he put up a comical defence.

‘Paul's such a card nowadays!' giggled Léonie.

He gave a condescending smile and looked past her at Frédérique, who was talking to Georges as they waited for the music to begin.

‘Come on, I've got so much to tell you!' he said to Léonie, feeling a twinge of regret at the distance between him and Frédérique. ‘But remember, we're supposed to be talking, not dancing.'

‘Oh, please, Paul, just a little whirl?'

But after that first whirl he resolutely steered his young partner through the crowd to a settee at the back shaded by overhanging palms.

‘Léonie, now be a good girl and say something nice!'

‘But I thought you had so much to tell me!' she countered coquettishly.

He was about to reply when he caught sight of Françoise coming towards them, fluttering her hands as she threaded her way through the surge of dancers.

‘Is there any room for me on the sofa?' she asked. ‘You invited me to be your conversation partner, remember?'

‘Ah! so you've decided to accept after all, simply because you haven't found a dancing partner I suppose. Well, now it's my turn to decline – be off! Away with you!'

‘Oh, Paul, have mercy on me! Let me sit here with you, it was hard enough getting here in the crush, please don't send me away!'

He was merciful and shifted to the middle of the sofa so that Françoise could sit on his other side, which left him half submerged in their bouffant tarlatan skirts.

‘And now for some fun with the grand parade!' he said, in a lordly manner.

The threesome settled back to observe the black tails and billowing skirts reeling past. Paul borrowed Françoise's fan to beat time with, and leant back like a sultan to enjoy the running commentary of his mirthful companions.

‘Ah, there's Freddie! An excellent dancer!' exclaimed Françoise as Georges and Freddie hove into view, and the threesome clapped their hands so vigorously that they caused the settee to jolt on its legs.

‘Sheer, sheer madness!' cried Paul, bouncing up and down, crumpling their frocks.

‘Ah, talk about being mad!' said Françoise. ‘So tell me, Paul, why you're so mad these days? You were going to tell me, remember?'

‘Because I'm mad about you!' he gushed. ‘Yes, mad about you, Françoise! I'm dying of love for you! Let me kiss you!'

Françoise recoiled in mock horror, upon which Léonie exploded with laughter.

. . .

The music stopped for the intermission; it was time to bring in the trestle tables, which had been laid up beforehand to enable the swift conversion of the reception suite into an elegant restaurant.

The guests dispersed themselves about the hall and the conservatory, whence the pianist had departed, forming small clusters amid much banter and fluttering of fans, and a magical golden dust seemed to descend on the entire gathering, setting each glance, each smile, each peal of laughter aglow with contagious euphoria.